


Crescendo

by dormiensa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Humour, mild violence, some sexual innuendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormiensa/pseuds/dormiensa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione and Draco are celebrating a milestone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slytheringurrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytheringurrl/gifts).



> Written for the Dramione Duet fest 2013. And beta'd by the unsinkable withdrawnred, without whom this story would never have seen the light of day.

Hermione let out a sigh of satisfaction as she closed her book on its last page. Placing it carefully on the shelf beside her armrest, she took a sip of water and glanced again at the breath-taking garden. The irises and primroses were in full bloom. Spring had always been her favourite season. And there was nothing that could surpass the wonder and beauty of Mother Nature in all her glory than in this quiet corner of her gran’s garden. Hermione had inherited it three years ago, when her dear mum passed away. Even now, the heartache had not lessened one bit whenever she thought about those warm, brown eyes—the ones she’d inherited—and the quick, reassuring squeeze from those strong hands that always showed support and understanding and love. Thoughts of her mum naturally led to remembrances of her dad. His death had been a few years prior and thus the pain less acute, but Hermione missed her parents terribly. She sighed. Non-magical people were less long-lived, and the few magical children they birthed had the “privilege” of mourning them longer. It was no wonder that Muggle-borns tended to marry other magic-adepts. Not that that was the only reason to do so, of course. 

At least the children would be spared the long duration of loss.

Hermione smiled as she thought of the children. Scors and Hue had each presented them with a new grandchild in recent months. Making a new total of eight. Hermione grinned as she recalled the look on Draco’s face the first time he held each of his newborn grandchildren; it was as if he was the first proud grandfather in the history of mankind. She didn’t yet have the heart to tell him that Lucius had sported that exact look when he held Eolande that first time. It had been a difficult pregnancy, what with Hermione’s advanced age and the adjustments she and Draco were still making towards settling into a new life together. Hermione marvelled at how quickly they had passed twenty years together. The empty-nest syndrome that had shattered her marriage with Ron had not even caused a ripple in the one she was sharing with Draco. Given their antagonism in school, it was hard to believe that she was better suited to Draco than to Ron. But that was exactly what happened: she found more happiness with her second husband.

A sudden movement in her lap disrupted Hermione’s musings. Draco was finally stirring from his nap. She untangled her fingers from his silken hair, which she’d been stroking as she read. Sleep-laden, pale gray eyes looked up in amusement.

“Feel well-rested now, milord?”

“Indeed, fair lady mine. You’ve finished your book? Or are your eyes bothering you again?”

“Finished. I was just admiring the garden and thinking about the children.”

“Ah. Have you figured out their plans for us tonight?”

“I haven’t tried. With a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw heading the planning committee, it’s hard to predict just what sort of celebration will result.”

“I suppose it _is_ a momentous occasion. Don’t forget: you ‘celebrated’ your first twentieth wedding anniversary by divorcing the Weasel King. The children are likely relieved that they won’t have to deal with another such upheaval.”

“Given that you didn’t even make it to your twentieth with Astoria, this will be a new experience for you.”

“I’ve had enough upheavals and ‘new experiences’ to last me two lifetimes, thank you.”

“Hard to believe that the Battle of Hogwarts was half a century ago, isn’t it?”

“And yet, you’re probably disappointed at how little progress has been made in our confined, little world.”

“Prejudices will always exist. But progress _has_ been made. A marriage like ours would’ve been unthinkable back then.”

“But who could possibly stand up to the tidal wave that is the only witch of The Golden Trio when she decides she wants something? I just meekly accepted the collar. Ow!”

“It’s either a symptom of senility or a consequence of an Obliviation performed on you without your knowledge. In any case, I _would_ point out, for the record, that _you_ spent a year harassing me to go out with you. And it was most certainly _you_ who proposed.”

“Oh, my wounded heart. To have put so much effort into the courtship ritual, only to be told that the lady had felt terrorized the entire time. But wait. Do Gryffindors even _know_ what it feels like to be terrorized?”

“Of course they do. It’s just that they are also brave enough to take a chance on delinquents. Otherwise, you wouldn’t’ve found such contentment for these last twenty years.”

“Perhaps. Although, I maintain that I haven’t found much _peace_ in this second marriage. I do wonder if I would’ve been better off if I’d remained unattached.”

“If you’d cut out your hairy heart and buried it beneath the foundations of the manor, then perhaps. Though you would’ve been even more ill-tempered than poor Snape and died a bitter old man.”

“I would not! And didn’t you once say you thought it terribly romantic and noble that Snape suffered so much for his unrequited love?”

“And didn’t you claim that your unrequited love for me was what drove you to act so brash and un-Slytherin in your attempts to woo me?”

“I never said that!”

“Maybe not to me. And certainly not while sober.”

“Someone must’ve spiked my drink with wormwood. I’d’ve had to have been completely deranged to make up such a sob story.”

“No. Just Veritaserum. It’s what finally convinced Harry to not hex you. And to restrain Ron and Molly.”

“What! Potter is about to die a premature death.”

“Aw, there now. I think it very romantic and noble that you didn’t follow in Snape’s footsteps. And Harry can be trusted to keep your dirty little secret. Not even Ginny knows.”

“Small comfort. She wasn’t exactly friendly with you back then.”

“Maybe not. But she’s had to admit that I’m happier with you than I ever was with Ron. He and I are definitely happier as friends again.”

“He’s certainly found a second mother in Stimpson. Oedipus. Ow! Might I remind you that I’m no longer a spry young wizard? My bones are fragile and it would hurt a lot more to repair or regrow them. You’d be more considerate if you loved me at all.”

“Why should I, given that I’m supposedly the incarnation of Antianeira? Just be thankful your legs are unharmed.”

“Seeing as you like being on top, the loss of my legs wouldn’t’ve been much of an impediment to a healthy marriage. And before you get any ideas, might I remind you that having you on my arm when we go to social gatherings is something I quite enjoy?”

Hermione snorted. “And some say chivalry’s dead. How positively medieval you are, milord.”

“Then, I must point out that you are practically prehistoric, lady mine, for you derive the same pleasure as I do.”

“I have weak knees. Having you as a crutch is merely more dignified.”

“Constantly vying to be the one on top has its price.”

“In that case, I should probably abstain from sex with my husband henceforth. I do recall _that_ being a particularly effective weapon that said husband has no protection against.”

“Most certainly Sorted into the wrong House.”

“Definitely regressing to childhood. I should warn Scors that Callie’s epic sulks are hereditary.”

“Malfoys do not sulk.”

“If that makes you happy, milord.”

“At the moment, a nice cup of tea would make me very happy. Be inside in fifteen minutes, unless you want yours to turn cold.”

Draco struggled into a sitting position and waited a few breaths before getting wheezily to his feet. Hermione made sure he had safely stepped foot into the kitchen before discreetly reactivating the spell that put the swing back in perpetual motion. It was an indulgence, the spell. She could easily have bought a swing with a crank to achieve the same effect. But the mechanical ones always made a noise. Besides, this was the swing that her gran had installed when she began planting this garden. Hermione had restored it, of course, when she inherited the cottage, and had made some adjustments so that it now had a footrest, shelves attached to the armrests that could hold books and drinks that would not spill while in motion, and a deeper seat that could support thicker, more comfortable cushions. There was an ornamental crank that would fool a casual onlooker, although there was little risk of being caught performing magic, sheltered as the garden was by the enclosing hedges and tall shrubs.

Hermione enjoyed the gentle rocking of the swing for a while longer before grabbing her book and empty glass and heading toward the back door. She pulled at her shawl as she felt the breeze at her back. Draco would’ve started a fire. It would be good to warm up. They didn’t like to cast Warming Charms around the swing because it hindered their enjoyment of the cool breezes and the crisp smell in the air. But it was still early in the season; the temperatures were still cool. 

Tea was sitting by the two cozy armchairs in front of the cheerful fire. Draco had scrounged some biscuits and sandwiches. Hermione grinned. It seemed that old dogs could still be taught. “Doing it Muggle” didn’t faze Draco at all nowadays, and she had to admit that it had taken less time to wean him off spell-dependence than with Ron. Draco still cheated sometimes by calling on one of the house-elves, but she could tell that he understood the satisfaction to be had from doing something for oneself.

“This is quite the feast, milord. We may not have any appetite left for the dinner tonight with the family.”

“Fear not. These are the ‘low-calorie’ treats that Rose prepared for us today. And unless you’ve somehow unexpectedly acquired the Weasel King penchant to inhale all edibles within a five-mile range, I think we’re quite safe. But I’m sure one of the house-elves has a concoction that will restore your appetite, if need be.”

“Ha. Ha. Past Malfoy ladies may have perfected the means to stay slender and ethereal with such torturous purges, but comfort before beauty has always been my preference.”

“Ah, but many also lacked your fiery temperament that must surely burn away the excess calories.”

“Says the one who threw a tantrum when he found his first gray hair.”

“Malfoys don’t throw tantrums.”

“Malfoys are in perpetual denial.”

“Gryffindors are under some delusion that they fight fair.”

“Slytherins are under some delusion that they are witty.”

“And Slytherins and Gryffindors married to each other are so caught up in their bickering that they forget that they have plans for dinner and need to come home _right now_ to get ready if they don’t want to be late,” said a voice in the fire. Rose’s head was staring beadily at them.

“You never said anything about needing to dress up for this mysterious dinner, dear. If we’d known—”

“I’m telling you now.” Rose stepped through and practically dragged Draco out of his chair. “Please escort thy wife to thy chambers, my lord Draco, whilst I remain to clean up after thine unreliable arses.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ever since that one time Rose had overheard Draco teasingly reciting that Shakespearean sonnet to Hermione, the incorrigible girl had found as many opportunities as possible to speak to them in Elizabethan English—a rather sarcastic form of it, in any case. Hermione had often regretted her attempts to “add culture” to her children’s lives by bringing them to the theatre. 

“Language, oh fresh-blown musk-rose. Come, lady mine, we must not tarry. Thorns, prickly ones of displeasure, I perceive.”

Rose rolled her eyes and snorted. “Your clothes have already been laid out. You have a half-hour to get ready before Scors shows up to escort you to the venue.”

“I hardly think we’ll need a half-hour to get ready. Thy mother may be old, but she is not in her dotage.” 

“‘When you are a dotard you will die.’ Now get thee to thy chambers and make haste.”

Hermione playfully pinched one of her daughter’s cheeks. “My brazen rose. Come, milord, let us depart.”

They disappeared through the fireplace with a _FOOM!_

***

When dinner was over, they took the opportunity to have a quiet moment together before their clan disbanded for the evening.

“It was a lovely party the children threw for us.”

“It was, indeed.”

Hermione shifted into a more comfortable position within Draco’s embrace. They were comfortably ensconced in the double-seater set up for them on the observation deck of the party venue. Below them, through the glass-bottom floor, they could see the canopy of the majestic redwoods of southwestern America. Above them was an unobstructed view of the night sky. It was cloudless, and the stars were twinkling in all their brilliance. The rest of their friends and family were spread out atop the canopy on their own flets to stargaze. 

“I’m glad they chose this location. We had our first successful date here, remember?”

“How could I forget? I also recall every detail of the previous two, unmitigated disasters that were my failed attempts to court you.”

Hermione giggled. “That sesame seed allergy was the most severe reaction I’ve ever seen. Thank goodness neither Scors nor Yoles take after you. I wonder if the children know that this place holds significance for us. I never told them about the dates in any detail.”

“They know. Potter told them. Did you not see the smug look on his mug when we arrived with Scors?”

“I was rather distracted by the little weights about hip and knee that were the grandchildren wanting hugs and kisses.”

“As was I, else Potter would’ve had his come-uppance then. I’ll even the score next week when we play Quidditch.”

“Don’t be reckless. You’re not a spry wizard anymore, as you said yourself. Your shoulder just healed from that last match. You boys know that if there is anymore rough play, you face a permanent ban of the game—all of you.”

“Yes, lady mine. That was quite the clever ploy from Hue, the moving chairs.”

“Oh, I should’ve known it was that mischievous boy’s hare-brained idea! He gets more and more like George with every passing year. But I have to admit, it was a nice way to ensure that we could chat with everyone during dinner. I noticed the empty spaces at the tables that were perfect for two extra chairs, so the lot must’ve known ahead of time about the arrangement. Rylan said that it was like musical chairs and asked if we could have it at the next luncheon so that he wouldn’t have to be stuck sitting with Aine the whole time.”

Draco chuckled. “He likes sitting with his uncle Hue. But we know what happens when they eat together.”

“Yes. I’d better warn Molly. If he ends up sitting with George…”

“Indeed. What the Death Eaters couldn’t accomplish—nor the twins while Fred was alive: the collapse of The Burrow.”

“Hopefully that will change when he starts Hogwarts in September. He’ll have a proper outlet for his magic. So far, he’s the one with the most uncontrollable magic. I don’t think even my accidents were quite on that scale.”

“Though your parents were probably more baffled. Rose and Patrick are handling it well.”

“They are.”

“They’ll be celebrating fifteen years next year, won’t they?”

“Oh my, yes! How time flies! Yoles was such an adorable flower-girl. And it was Rose’s wedding that truly brought us together as a family. I was so happy to see her introduce you as her second dad.”

“Rose has her mum’s level-headedness. Both our girls do. The wedding was, indeed, a turning point. And here we are. Twenty years ago this day, you cleaved yourself unto me. Thoughts?”

“I did. As you did unto me. No regrets. And I’m certain I will say the same on our one-hundredth anniversary.”

“And subsequent ones?”

“I may be suffering from joint pains and lament that an effective age-reversing spell is not available… but yes, I will still be content to be married to you. Just make sure you’re still alive.”

“Contrary to the statistics on the Black side of the family, I come from long-living trees.”

“Well, Narcissa and Lucius are still doing well, so I’m optimistic for your chances.”

“As am I. Now, what shall we do for these next few decades?”

“We haven’t seen all there is to see of the world. And Yoles only finished Hogwarts last year. She could still use our help deciding on what her life path will be. I encouraged her to take time to travel and gain some life experiences. Being technically born a generation after her siblings, she has the luxury of doing so. Scors, Rose, and Hue are part of the generation that was still helping their parents rebuild our world, so they had fewer opportunities to enjoy young adulthood before needing to take on the responsibilities. Though I think we did our best to encourage them to do some exploring.”

“Yes. And they were lucky to have your support, especially, when it came to the question of marrying early. You will notice that Molly was the most vociferous of the grandparents.”

“Your father didn’t marry young, so he was hardly in the position to complain. And Molly has always been old-fashioned. I was thankful to have both Arthur and Ron as buffer. Ron and I agreed early on that we would present a united front when it came to raising the children so as to avoid confusing them with conflicting philosophies.”

“You mean you bullied the Weasel King into it. And gave him the perfect excuse to rebel against his domineering mother.”

“At least he matured and became his own man. Your apron strings were never cut.”

“Staying her little boy makes my mother happy. And besides, at least I only ever possessed one set. Weasel King found a new apron. Ow!”

“Your friends would claim that you merely traded one manipulative female who ruled the household for another.”

“Ah, but the difference lies in the fact that I was happy to be obeisant. Astoria was not. Hence her dire need to find her own nest to preside over.”

“Is the great, haughty Draco Malfoy admitting to loving being henpecked?”

“To you, certainly. And there isn’t a single husband among our friends who can claim otherwise, so I have no fear of emasculation. Voldemort’s second rising certain had one positive outcome: the witches who survived are so formidable that they give Morgana and her ilk pause.”

“Such generosity of fulsome compliments deserves a kiss.” When they paused for breath, Hermione murmured, “And no, I don’t expect such sentimentality to last beyond tonight.”

“Why, lady mine, I thought you said you were above using Occlumency on your hapless lord.”

“I know you too well. I may be married to you for only twenty years, Draco Malfoy, but by September, I’ll have known you for fifty-six years and all of your most snotty ones.”

“Well, you certainly made sure to stamp out any of those so-called ‘snotty’ traits. Whereas I must still contend with a swotty know-it-all.”

“Ah, but you love that about me. Happily obeisant—you said so yourself.”

“Aren’t you proud that I’m being such an exemplary role model to our sons and grandsons?”

“Oh, is that the reason? Well, then, I must endeavour to be even swottier if I’m to set a proper example for our daughters and granddaughters to emanate.”

“You’ve already surpassed McGonagall. Any worse and we’re looking at Umbridge and Skeeter levels of—Ow!”

“I think you have a subconscious desire to be beaten to a pulp, milord.”

“We tried the light bondage and whipping and agreed they weren’t to our taste, if you recall. You admitted that my hands, tongue, and cock were more than sufficient.”

Hermione slapped his thigh and glared. “Draco! The others may not be eavesdropping, but we’re still in a public place!”

“Oh, lady mine, we’re approaching our seventieth year, and we have grandchildren aplenty, but you’re still so prudish.”

“Call it what you will. At least I made sure the children never accidentally walked in on us, unlike your parents.”

“Argh! Will you stop bringing that up!”

“Come to think of it, your parents were younger than Scors when you—”

“All right! Let’s talk about something else!”

“I promised Narcissa we’d stay a fortnight at the manor next week.”

“WHAT?!”

“ _Shhh!_ Lucius has been feeling despondent after that recent fall but is too proud to admit that he’d like some company.”

“But—”

“You’re their only child, Draco. Surely you could spare the time? I would give anything to be able to spend time—”

“Fine! But as my reward, we’re going to the villa in Barcelona a week earlier to recuperate.”

“You sound like Rylan when he was five. He’s managed to outgrow that phase, unlike his grandfather.”

“No man outgrows that phase. They just learn to negotiate more deviously. Besides, you’re forcing me to regress to the little boy that Mother petted and Father tried to mold, so excuse me if I feel rather vexed.”

“Aw, there now. Will you be a good boy and behave for my sake?” Leaning into him, she whispered, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Draco’s face split into a wide, demonic grin. A moment later, they Disapparated, the stars forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> original prompt: Post-DH, epilogue-compliant. Draco interacting with the Muggle World. Humor is appreciated.


End file.
